


Know Your Place

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Falling In Love, I broke mine too, Introspection, Loyalty, M/M, Self-Reflection, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Abuse Survivor, Sexual Content, Sorry in advance for breaking your heart, Suicide, sexual abuse trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 23:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Aimeric had spent most of his life having his place drilled into him. It wasn’t until it was too late that he began to question it—that he began to question everything.





	Know Your Place

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for the Captive Prince fandom and I couldn't have done it without carpemermaidtales endless support and beta. And to TDCat's amazing beta skills that helped soothed my nerves about venturing into a new fandom.
> 
> If you're worried about any of the tags please read the end notes for spoilers.

 

_Know Your Place._

Aimeric was five the first time he remembered hearing those words. His oldest brother Thaddée had hissed the words at him as he’d chased Amand and Pierre around the table. He’d had the gall to beat Amand in their races, and Amand had immediately taken off to find their father in his study. Amand was eight years older than Aimeric, and two years younger than Thaddée. He was the second born, and he knew it—desperate for their father’s approval, and even more so to one-up all his brothers—he was constantly running to their father when things didn’t go his way. Pierre had run after him, as he always did, chasing Amand’s heels, desperate for his favor.

Thaddée had dropped his quill and parchment, looking up at his brother in annoyance. He was fifteen now and old enough to be let in on their father’s business dealings, on the gossip that trickled into the borderlands like the spring rain—welcome but sparse, never enough. He had little time for any of his younger brothers, but for Aimeric especially. Aimeric wasn’t only the last child, he was an accident. The fourth son his parents never meant to have. The one that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“You are not supposed to beat him, you know this,” Thadee had chastised, rising from the table with his boots clacking on the floor loudly—imposingly—like their father’s did as he crossed the room to kneel down before Aimeric. He looked so much like their father, his brown hair falling over his eyes and his eyes shaped like the almonds in the pastries their mother made Aimeric on his birthday. He looked kind in a way Aimeric knew was as false as the the lies his mother told him— _your father loves you all the same_ , she whispered, only when their father couldn’t hear.

“I was faster than him,” Aimeric said in the matter of fact way only a child can manage. As if there can be no other answer besides the truth.

“You are not more than Amand or Pierre or me. You are the baby of the family, Aimeric, and you will know your place.”

Though he had not struck him, Aimeric had felt the force of his words like a blow to the chest. He almost wished Thadee had hit him, like he used to before he’d become a man, like their father. Cuts and bruises healed, but words left memories.

  


*******

  


_Know Your Place._

The words were said kindly, in a way only his mother could manage. Her hands were as gentle as the lull of her voice. All it took was for her to speak to Aimeric in that same private tone she reserved when the two of them were alone, the tone she used when she stroked his hair back and sang him to sleep even though he was too old for such tidings from his mother.

The water that dripped down his face was ice cold, soothing the throbbing cut on the side of his face. It wasn’t the first time Aimeric had been punched and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“It was Amand’s fault,” Aimeric whispered, as if the weight of his truths might be heard.

 _You’re nothing more than a pretty face,_ Amand had said, pushing him into the circle of boys. It was Amand who’d stolen the stable boy’s hat, not Aimeric. It was Amand who had taunted the other boy until a small crowd of the town’s boys had gathered to watch the fight. It was Amand who had laid the blame on Aimeric for the theft.

And it was Aimeric who would shoulder the blame. Aimeric who would keep quiet about the truth. Aimeric who would feel the brunt of fists, for his brother’s words. _Family_ . _Loyalty_. These were lessons that had been drilled into Aimeric for as long as he could remember. He would never have the wealth or honor Thadee commanded as their father’s heir. He would never have the brash entitlement Amand possessed, and he could never manage the indifference to either that Pierre did. Aimeric’s greatest weakness was his desire to matter more than he did. His father knew it. His brothers knew it. Aimeric didn’t know what his mother knew, only that she loved him.

“Know your place, Aimeric. Do not speak ill of your brothers where someone might hear.” The unspoken, _You are no one_ , went unsaid.  “You settled the matter like a man. You brought your family honor by seeing the fight through even if you lost. Let us leave it at that.”

Aimeric winced as his mother applied a thick salve to the deep cut. He could see the blood coagulating near his eye. He knew no one would ask how he got it. _Aimeric starts fights,_ they all thought.

Aimeric never told anyone he didn’t start them, he only finished them.

  


*******

  


The Regent’s clothing was a rich red, like the flags that waved from the poles of the horses that had ridden in that morning. Aimeric had watched from the highest tower as the Regent and his men had arrived yesterday. He’d not been invited to greet the Regent or his party, had not been invited to dine with his father and the Regent and Thaddee as a man. Aimeric’s existence was ignored that day, as all the days before. At least until he’d been walking across the yard towards the stables, an apple halfway to his mouth, when he’d bumped quite literally into the Regent. He’d bowed his head and apologized.

The Regents finger’s had been warm as they’d lifted his chin up, encouraging him to make eye contact—a boldness he would have never initiated on his own. The stories of power and coldness he’d heard whispered from the household staff did not reflect in the softness in his eyes as he smiled at Aimeric in a way that made Aimeric blush. He wasn’t used to people _looking_ at him.

“Going for a ride are we?” The Regent asked.

Aimeric dropped his hands at his sides, the apple rolling away, the spot where his mouth had just been now covered in dirt. “Yes, sir.”

“And are you good at riding? Your father tells me you enjoy the stables.”

Aimeric’s eye’s narrowed in confusion and surprise. He’d never heard anyone say his father had mentioned him. “Yes, I enjoy riding,” he answered, knowing well enough to be careful with his words. The Regent was not the type of man you spoke freely to; he was old enough to understand that.

“Such a lovely boy,” the Regent murmured, almost to himself. “I must see your father now. Matters of the crown. Have a good ride, my child.”

And then he was gone. Aimeric had barely been able to concentrate as he’d ridden out of the stables on his favorite horse, letting her gallop across the wide pastures until his thighs ached more than his heart. When he returned home it was to find his father waiting by his horse's stall, an unreadable expression upon his face.

“Aimeric, there you are. It’s good to see you back,” he said, holding out his hand to help him dismount. Aimeric watched the outstretched hand and dropped to the floor on his own, the hay crunching beneath the fine leather of his riding boots. His father bristled, standing up taller. “You’re to go immediately to your rooms. The slaves will bathe and dress you. The Regent would like a word.”

“Why?” Aimeric asked. “What if I don’t want to?” he added, as if he might say no. He knew he wouldn’t, but his father didn’t know that. It made Aimeric feel as if he had more control than he truly did.

His father’s face transformed into the one Aimeric knew all too well. The one that said disobedience would not be tolerated. He didn’t need to say the words for Aimeric to feel them wash over him all the same.

 _Know your place,_ his father’s eyes said.

  
  


*******

  


_Know Your Place._

Aimeric said the words to himself in the ornate mirror above the table in the corner of his room. Everything about the room spoke of luxury. They were the most important family in the south. They were important to the Kingdom of Vere. Important to the Regent. His father was the Ambassador, his brother Thaddée his trusted heir, they brought honor to the family and their town. A town that Aimeric had heard over and over again his crown Prince did not care for. Laurent of Vere was willful and disobedient. He avoided his royal duties, especially the southern border patrol. Laurent wanted nothing to do with Aimeric’s province or his family and that suited Aimeric just fine. There were enough people he would never be good enough for, he didn’t need to add the Prince to that list.

The knock on the door came just as the sun was beginning to set out the far window. He could still hear the sounds outside, the clatter of horses’ hooves and the creaking of the wooden carts they pulled. The monotony of the sounds, the familiarity of it, soothed Aimeric’s fraying nerves.

The summer breeze filtered in through the gap in the curtains,  fresh and cool air floated across Aimeric’s skin as he walked away from opening door. He wasn’t sure what the Regent wanted from him, but whatever it was, it must be important. His father made it clear that he was to show the Regent the honor and respect he deserved, to deny him nothing—as if Aimeric had ever denied anyone anything.

“Hello, Aimeric.” The Regent’s voice rung out clear as the door shut behind him. Aimeric didn’t need to look to know there were guards posted outside his door. Though the door was unlocked he was not free to leave.

“Hello,” Aimeric said, turning to face the Regent. The Regent smiled at him, as if his being in Aimeric’s private rooms alone was as normal as having breakfast in the dining hall. As if everything were ok.

The beating of Aimeric’s heart rose to such a clatter he could barely think.

When Aimeric didn’t move towards him, the Regent approached him instead, backing Aimeric up until they were inches from the bed. Aimeric felt foolish for not realizing what the Regent wanted earlier. He should have known he had but one thing to offer anyone.

The Regent’s fingers were warm as they reached out to stroke down the side of his cheek. “My dear boy, you need not look so afraid. I will not hurt you. I’m not here to take anything from you. I’m here to _give_ you something.”

Americ’s heart seemed to stop beating for a moment, as if caught in the center of a storm.  “No one gives me anything,” he found himself confessing honestly. His ears were buzzing and though the Regent’s hand moving lower to the laces on his pants was not something Aimeric wanted, it was done with a kind of tenderness that made Aimeric dizzy with confusion. He was used to the things he had to do being forced—taken.

“I’m going to give you everything you deserve,” The Regent said as he undid the laces slowly. Aimeric closed his eyes and tried to remember a time where anyone else had ever thought he deserved anything.

Hours later, once the Regent was gone and he lay naked and alone, he noticed the jar of salve his mother used to use when he’d gotten in fights, applied gently to his cuts and bruises as she could take away the pain. He wasn’t sure when it had been left on his bedside table, though he could guess by whom. He opened the jar and closed his eyes, unsure if he were swallowing down the tears behind his eyes or the bile rising in his throat as the scent of almonds and peppermint assaulted his senses. He scooped up the salve, dropping his hand down to a place that before tonight no other person had touched, and applied it liberally to the aching, torn skin.

He remembered a time he’d thought actions hurt less than words, and closed his eyes knowing tonight the touches were the memory he would never rid himself of.

  


*******

 

“On your knees, Aimeric,” the Regent commanded. It was the tenth night he'd visited Aimeric’s private rooms in the two weeks since he’d arrived.

 _“It’s an honor,”_ his father had whispered at him over breakfast, pulling out the seat beside him and across from Thaddée. Aimeric had never been allowed to sit so close to his father or oldest brother at the table, taking Amand’s seat. Amand glared at him from the other end of the table and Pierre simply shrugged. Aimeric found it easy to push aside his feelings of confusion and shame when his father was looking at his with a kind of pride he never thought he’d earn.

On the nights the Regent hadn’t graced Aimeric with a moonlight visit, he had lain in bed unable to sleep, watching the door and wondering if he were more afraid the Regent would come or would not **,** as terrified of being touched again as he was of the idea of having been a disappointment to the Regent and his father.

Aimeric obeyed easily, falling to his knees as if his submission came as naturally as his acts of defiance if it were who he was and not who he was made to be.

His hands were on the Regent’s laces, as if he’d been doing it forever. It was amazing what one could learn in such a short time when they had a good teacher. It felt harder and harder to remember why he’d thought it was such a bad thing.

The Regent’s attentions were lavish and bright, words of guidance and approval falling from his mouth as Aimeric pleasured him. It was not so different from doing it to himself, except that when he did it to someone else he was praised for it, and that recognition of a talent Aimeric had not known he possessed sent a thrill of arousal and comfort pooling in his stomach—leaving little room to dwell on the pain or sense of wrongness when minutes later the Regent pressed him back into the bed covering Aimeric’s body with his own.

The Regent’s hands were rougher that night, and when Aimeric flinched instinctively the Regent’s mouth was at his ear, words clear as day and cold as ice, “ _Know your place_ , it is beneath me.”

  


*******

 

The day the Regent was set to leave, Aimeric ignored his father’s request to stay in his rooms and came out to watch the Regent and his men depart. Most of the town had gathered to see. It was rare anyone came to Fortaine besides occasional traders and merchants, and everyone was always desperate to feel a little more Veretian than they sometimes did living so close to the border.

The Regent’s flags flew high, basking in the sun’s warmth as the Regent approached Aimeric. He took two steps back, unsure whether the Regent would be angry. It was supposed to be a secret. They were a secret. No one could know how special Aimeric was to the Regent or someone else might try to take him, the Regent had whispered, his hands stroking through Aimeric’s curls before he’d left him the night before.

“I see you did not follow orders,” the Regent’s voice was flat, but as he got closer there was the familiar hint of a smile  gracing his face that allowed the tension in Aimeric’s body to be carried away on the wind. He leaned in closely to whisper for only Aimeric to hear. “You will need to learn to obey even better if you ever hope to do what needs to be done, if you want to take your rightful place beside me.”

“I can do that,” Aimeric whispered, and it was true. He knew it was true. He could do whatever needed to be done for the safety of his country, to protect his family, to be worthy of the attention the Regent bestowed upon him. It was intoxicating to know someone like the Regent saw his value.

“Good boy, Aimeric. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you were special, that you were destined for greater things than Captaincy in the army or wasting away on the borders. Someone like you deserves to be seen. I knew you’d make me proud.” Through the Regent didn’t touch him, he felt the memory of the older man’s hands upon him all the same.

Aimeric’s chest swelled and for the first time it wasn’t because his father was watching him.

This time no one needed to tell Aimeric, _know your place_ , because he knew exactly where that was. It was standing beside the Regent, bringing safety and glory to the south—to Vere.

  


*******

 

The orders came from his father’s mouth, but the words were unmistakingly the Regent’s. Aimeric had seen the Regent’s messenger arrive not an hour before his father delivered the order that would dispatch him to the Prince’s Guard to serve Laurent but even if he hadn’t, his father would’ve never given him an order that held so much praise.

Aimeric’s anger at being sent away to serve the irresponsible Prince of Vere warred with his pride at the Regent finally letting him know what he needed to do to earn favor. He’d had moments—shameful moments alone in the quiet darkness of his room—where he’d doubted this moment would come. Years of waiting—of days turned weeks and weeks turned months and months turned years—before Aimeric was finally being given the chance to prove himself. He knew what his father, what his countrymen said. The Prince was unfit to be king and the man who was fit to rule had hand picked Aimeric not only to help him accede to the throne, but to share in his bed, in the glory. There was honor in that knowledge.

When he arrived at his station, he found that the Prince’s Guard was a disgrace and the Regent’s men were even worse. Govart was as disgusting as Aimeric recalled from the few trips he’d made to the border, always drinking and fucking and unable to command any order in his men or Laurent’s. Worse still, his attempts at provocation, to turn the armies against each other were failing. In fact the only one who seemed to keep ending up on the wrong end of someone’s fist was Aimeric.

 _Know your place_ , the Regent had reminded him in one of the only letters to have come in his handwriting in years. Aimeric had bristled at the reminder, while fingering the letter all the same; he had thought that it would be easy. The vision of the future, of Vere, was so clear when he’d been at home.

But here, the men were as wild and untamed as the landscape. The Prince wanted nothing to do with him and, though he was closer in status to him than any of the men, his company was rejected in favor of the Akielon slave whose confidence the Prince took when thought no one was looking. It shouldn’t have made him bristle; he was used to being ignored. Despite being highborn, there was always someone whose company was prefered over Aimeric’s. All the same, it was hard to shake the feeling that even outside the shadow of his father and brothers he would always be less than everyone else.

Govart was a nightmare, and Aimeric found himself floundering, picking small fights and unsure what to do with himself. There was no order, no system of hierarchy he understood and no one he could please. Until one day Govart was gone, torn to pieces by the Prince’s tongue and sword. Aimeric had never seen a man who could wield words as if they were sharper than a blade. Aimeric had momentarily thought everything was over, but instead of looking confused by the sudden change in leadership, most of the men seemed relieved. They craved leadership even if they didn’t know it. Aimeric knew all too well what that felt like.

As power shifted, the new Captain showed himself to be fair and just, and more concerned with his men’s cohesiveness than where he shoved his cock. That first night Aimeric had fallen into his tent more exhausted than he could ever remember being in his entire life.

Watching the men fall in line beneath the new Captain, beneath the Prince and the Akelion slave, made Aimeric’s stomach twist with confusion. It was easier than it should have been to fall in line with them, easy to do whatever needed to be done to keep up. Aimeric had never been afraid of hard work. The problem was, as the days wore on the line between duty and action became blurred. Some days he wasn’t sure what he was doing because he wanted to and because he was supposed to do it.

Aimeric had never met a man like Jord. A man who expected all his men to be equals. His entire life had been juxtaposed by those he was above and those who were above _him_. With Jord as his Captain, things seemed simple in a way that Aimeric felt certain could only be an illusion. Equality, kindness—these were not things Aimeric had expected to find in the royal Guard. He did not feel a loyalty to his Prince, but the tendrils of loyalty to his Captain were being planted and it terrified him.

Aimeric had not known that being equal with others could offer such allure. The days at Nesson were long, the work hard, and day after day Aimeric fell into bed alone too tired to think. He felt grateful for the work, for the opportunity to prove he was more than what he saw in the mirror.  In his free moments he watched Jord, wondering what a man who seemed to want nothing might want from him.

For the first time in his life, Aimeric began to doubt.

And with the doubt came shame. Shame that burned brighter than the midnight fire and tasted worse than the cheap wine out of dented tin cups the men passed around the fire as freely as gossip and tawdry words.

Jord began to look, and Aimeric wondered what he saw.

  


*******

 

When Jord touched Aimeric it was hard not to think of the Regent, the only other man who had ever touched him, hard not to arch into Jord’s gentle touches as an oil-slicked finger slipped inside his body. Jord touched Aimeric as if giving him pleasure was as enticing as the pleasure Aimeric could offer him and that made all the difference.

Aimeric had not been surprised when Jord asked him back to his tent. What surprised him was the words he’d used. “I’d be honored,” he’d said, as if Aimeric’s presence was not only desired but a gift.

Aimeric pressed his face into the pile of blankets, spread himself wide, and hoped Jord could not see on his face all the things Aimeric was offering him besides his body.

Aimeric was not blind. He knew the way the other men talked about him, looked at him. He knew he was something to look at. His attractiveness was the one thing he'd never been uncertain of. But when Jord looked at him it was hard not to feel as if Jord saw more than bright eyes and soft curls, as if Jord saw even more in Aimeric than he saw in himself.

“I’m not sure what I have to offer you,” Jord whispered, the night before they were set to leave Nesson. The men’s voices around the fire were loud outside the tent and Aimeric had no illusions that they were alone. But he wanted to be alone, wanted them to be anywhere but here where they were on the verge of war. He wanted this to be real more than he’d ever wanted anything.

“Let me,” Aimeric had answered, falling to his knees as if it were his place, his capable hands on the strings of Jord’s pants. He undid them swiftly, shoving them down to Jord’s knees as his hands roamed over strong thighs and he took Jord in his mouth. This was something Aimeric was good at, this was something Aimeric could do without thinking, without fear.

“Aimeric,” Jord gasped, fingers tangling in his hair as he held his body still. It was always that way, as if Jord were controlling himself from taking all the things from Aimeric he really wanted. Aimeric wanted Jord to lose control, wanted Jord to _take_. Men tooks things from him, they always had, but Jord didn’t want to take more than Aimeric wanted to give.

Aimeric didn’t know how to tell him he wanted Jord to take everything.

The memory of the tree bark rough under his hands as he’d emptied his stomach burned in his memory as he took Jord deeper, nearly choking on the length of his cock. The ghost of Jord’s hands upon his back as he’d tried to comfort Aimeric, the wind blowing through the leaves as Jord told him Orlant was a traitor, that Aimeric had done the right thing. _The right thing._ That was becoming harder and harder to be sure of. Aimeric knew what he was doing was the right thing for the Regent and for Vere, but maybe it was not the right thing for Jord, nor perhaps for himself. Would Jord feel the same when he learned Aimeric was a traitor, would he be as easy to forget—as easy to kill? The world had always found it easy to find someone to replace Aimeric, he only hoped when the time came, Jord would as well.

Aimeric could tell that Jord was close, his legs quivering as Aimeric sucked harder before pulling off and crawling towards the bed. He laid himself upon the soft blankets, turning to look at Jord over his shoulder. Jord was already removing the rest of his clothing, a tender smile upon his face as he moved beside Aimeric, calloused hands running down the length of his side.

“You’ve earned your place here, Aimeric. You’re a good man.” Jord was always doing that, saying things to Aimeric as if he deserved them.

Aimeric swallowed down the shame threatening to choke him as he darted forward to join his lips with Jord’s. Jord was the one who was good, who deserved his place here. Aimeric closed his eyes and rolled over, pulling Jord atop him as he moved his hands down to wrap around their cocks, swallowing down the sighs of pleasure Jord made into his mouth.

Jord asked for nothing, and Aimeric wanted to give him everything, wanted to be worthy of the light that burned in Jord’s eyes when he looked at him.

 _Know your place_ he tried to remind himself, as Jord’s release coated his body. The problem was, he was no longer sure where that was.

  


*******

  


Aimeric held his head high as he spoke, his voice unwavering. The words that fell from his lips were lies, but he knew in his heart that the truth did not protect men or country.

He did not allow himself to look directly at Jord, though a part of him was calling out to Jord all the same. The last time he’d seen him had been when he’d slipped out of Jord’s tent before sunrise, the Regent’s letter clutched tightly in his hands. Betraying Laurent should’ve been hard, but betraying Jord was much harder. All the same, the Regent’s accolades and promises rang in his head. This was what he’d been waiting for, this was the one thing in his life he was meant to do.

He kept his head high, his eyes defiant and his stance strong as he heard Laurent dismissing Jord. Guilt burned in his stomach as he understood he had cost Jord his captaincy, but it was better than costing Jord his life. He would recover from this indiscretion. He had to. Jord had risen above his station and he would rise above this one day too.

Laurents words burned like a brand, worming their way into his chest and burrowing in deeper than his guilt. How dare he bring Jord’s honor into this  after dishonoring Vere with his own selfish impudence. Aimeric had watched for weeks as night after night the Akelion slave had gone to Laurent’s tent, taking him both in confidence and likely in bed. He knew his Prince cared more about beating the Regent than taking care of his people or protecting Fortaine. The Regent was smarter, more powerful, and the idea that Laurent thought he were better suited to rule was almost laughable. Laurent had fooled the men into believing he was worth following, had almost fooled Aimeric, but in the end Aimeric had been strong enough to remember what he’d been taught.

He listened to his father speak on behalf of the council—heavy words admonishing the Prince for his crimes against country and the Regent—Aimeric allowed his breathing to slow. He knew his father spoke the truth. Duty. Country. Family. These were the things you lived and died for. These were the things the Regent had told him would be rewarded. Aimeric had very little to offer anyone but his loyalty, and that was not something he toyed with lightly.

He regretted hurting Jord but he could not in this moment regret his choice. The Regent loved him just as Aimeric loved the Regent and his country.

 _Know your place_ was not a phrase Aimeric needed to remind himself. So long as he did not look at Jord he felt certain he had done the right thing.

  


*******

 

The moment Aimeric was taken prisoner by Laurent’s men was not the moment he lost hope.

He knew his father held him in no particular favor. He was not his pride like Thaddée or married to a wealthy woman like Amand, nor was he as quiet and easy as Pierre. But all the same he’d been a loyal son, done every single thing his father had ever asked of him. Done it in the name of family and loyalty. He knew that despite the guard’s assertions that he was in trouble they couldn’t be right. Surely they were bluffing. He might not have been as important as his brothers, but he was still his father’s son and the Regent had promised to protect him at all costs. They would not abandon him.

Hours turned to days, the shackles around his wrists and ankles becoming as heavy as they ones around his heart.

The metal chaffed his skin, his shoulders ached, and the wounds that sprung up beneath the metal began to bleed and crust with dried blood. Aimeric was not new to pain, but this was the first time he thought perhaps he deserved it.

None of that however was as chilling as the whispers he heard outside his stall.

 

_Know your place, Traitor._

_Scum._

_Let’s use his body. It’s all he’s good for._

_He deserves it._

_He fucked our Captain to get what he wanted, why shouldn’t we get what we want._

_It’s all he’s good for. He deserves this._

 

Bile rose in his throat and his blood turned to ice. He’d had those thoughts himself, but hearing them from others—knowing everyone else saw him the way he saw himself—was somehow worse. He’d thought no one could think worse of him than he did of himself, but he’d been wrong. Again he’d been wrong.

Aimeric wondered if there was a time in his life he’d ever been right.

When his cell door creaked open, he’d braced himself for the worst. He was no stranger to the pain of sex. He knew he’d survive. Except it wasn’t the soldiers entering his cell it was the Prince. It was his slave. It was _Jord_.

Aimeric closed his eyes and pulled on the chains in futility.

He barely heard Laurent’s words, felt his own come out without thinking. He could hear the echo of himself speaking, saying he wasn't sorry for what he’d done even if it wasn’t the truth. He couldn’t let them know he hated himself as much as they hated him too. He didn’t care what Laurent thought of him, but knowing Jord was there was too much. He didn’t need to see this, didn’t need to hear.

Aimeric gritted his teeth, felt the defiant tilt of his jaw return as he shouted back. Laurent didn’t know what he was talking about. The Regent loved him. He’d _promised_ him.

Laurent’s eyes blazed with cruelty as the words kept falling from his lips and with every accusation Aimeric felt the seeds of doubt he'd pushed aside for years return with all the strength of a winter storm—brutal and unyielding in its harshness.

Aimeric remembered the first night the Regent had come to his room the day after he’d turned fourteen, the pain and shame he’d felt as the older man had breached his body. He remembered the way the Regent kept coming back night after night, the words he had used to make Aimeric feel proud of the way his body responded to the Regents touch instead of horrified. He remembered the praise, the adulation, the promise of safety and protection—the promise of love.

Mostly though he remembered feeling used. Feeling dirty. Feeling unwanted. Then he thought of Jord, of feeling cared for, perhaps for the first time in his life simply because of who he was and not what he could offer someone.

It was too much; the wheel of emotions, the realization of his betrayal. The knowledge that he’d been so misguided about the Regent, about his father—about _everything_. He felt the sobs wrack his body of their own accord, air barely entering his lungs as he fell to the floor gasping—the weight of his new awareness too much to bear. The stone floor was cold and hard, and Aimeric welcomed the shock of pain as his body convulsed, his eyes squeezed shut tightly though it did nothing to quell the flood of tears.

He was dimly aware of Jord shouting, though he wasn’t conscious of the words. But as two men came to drag him from the cell his only thought was that he knew his place now, and it was exactly where he was this moment—on the floor getting what he deserved.

  


*******

 

The moment the guards escorted Aimeric to his new room he was assaulted with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. The luxury of the room was a shocking juxtaposition from his days in the cells and his long weeks in camp. He did not take comfort in the expensive bed and fancy linens. Instead he missed the days of falling into a makeshift bed made of straw and blankets, his body exhausted from a day’s hard, honest labor—of falling into bed with Jord.

Whether it was Laurent’s sense of duty to his nobility, or his father’s influence that afforded him the luxuries of home, Aimeric wasn’t sure. There was a bed and reading nook, a desk with ink and paper, and food better than anything he’d tasted since before he’d left Fortaine. Aimeric found himself unable to swallow the food, despite his hunger. The room was too familiar. Reminded him of a time before his indiscretions, before he’d betrayed Jord. Before he’d lost everything.

His feet paced the room, the leather heels of his boots clacking on the stone floor. There was no mirror in his room, though at certain times of the day Aimeric could see his reflection in the large windows so clearly it took his breath away. The bruise on the side of his face was still there, the scars on his ankles and wrists hidden by his formal Veretian attire. But no matter whether the scars were visible or healing changed nothing. Aimeric could look at himself and see only the worst.

Every night as the sun began to set he looked at the bed and found himself unable to climb into it. The bed that looked so much like the one he’d had at home. The same color sheets, an equally luxurious blanket, and the same intricate style of hand-carved bed frame. _Too_ similar to his bed at home. The emptiness of sleeping without Jord and the memory of another bed and another body atop his own, haunted Aimeric as he curled up on the floor, comforted by the cold seeping into his bones from the stone beneath him.

As the days went on, Aimeric found the room nearly suffocating. Everything was too normal, too familiar. It was more than he deserved and everything he’d had, and all he wanted was to go back in time and make different choices, to ignore the Regent’s letter and curl up behind Jord’s warm body.

A sense of rage and helplessness swirled within him as he stared at the flickering image of his reflection, and before he knew what he was doing his fist connected with the window, blood gushing from his knuckles as the corner shattered. An almost peaceful feeling washed over Aimeric as he picked up the glass, watching his blood stain it as he walked towards his desk and pulled the ink and paper towards him.

This time he did nothing to try to stop the flood of tears that fell from his eyes as easily as the blood gushing from his wrists. Aimeric took in a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, tried to remember the way the sun had looked reflecting off Jord’s face when he laughed, or the way his embrace had felt near the tree. He thought of Jord’s hidden smiles around the fire and his gentle touches in the privacy of his tent.

He thought of everything Jord had given him that he had never deserved, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that the only thing in his life that had ever been true was the only thing he’d let himself doubt.

 

_I’m sorry, Jord._

 

He wrote the three solitary words slowly, his hand shaking with the effort to keep his writing neat. If these were the last words he would leave Jord, even if the other man could not accept them, they would be neat, they would be perfect. They would be everything Aimeric had never been.

 _Know your place_ , Aimeric thought, almost bitterly as he realized that he’d hurt so many people to find his place when he’d had it within his grasp. His place had been with Jord and he’d been too stupid, too blind, to see it.

His last thought before his eyelids fluttered shut was that though he would not outlive his guilt, he hoped Jord would outlive his memory.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic is canon compliant and delves into the sexual abuse Aimeric experienced as a minor. It is not graphic but it IS there and it explores his mental state as he dealt with it, and the way the Regent and his father warped his sense of self and his identity. Also its canon compliant, so it does deal with Aimeric's suicide. 
> 
> This was so painful for me to write but almost cathartic in a way as I loved his character so much and his death was so painful for me.
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://capritruth813.tumblr.com//)


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